High Tension
by mechrocancer
Summary: It wasn't supposed to turn out this way, but Eren supposes it would have to do. Check end notes for warnings.


It hadn't been but three hours into the aftermath when he'd found the body.

Those that remained of the Scouting Legion had vested in themselves the responsibility of recording a death toll, but the state of the troops and the number of nameless bodies that still blanketed the ground was quickly proving an accurate toll to be impossible.

Among those sent to the slaughterfield for dutiful body counting was Eren Jaeger, clipboard in one hand and pen in the other. He held his jaw clenched as he scrawled out the names of those whom he recognized. He'd been told to simply do his job with no complaints, and definitely without any dramatic speeches about the cruel tactics of their branch. He tried to keep a steady pace, not allowing himself time to think about what he was doing. Not allowing himself a second to think about all the lives just thrown away how they 'could have saved them'. But, all of that was broken as soon as he kicked over the next corpse.

"Hey, no stopping to smell the dasies, Jaeger! We've got a shitload more work to do out here. Someone's pushing 'em up, won't be the last one!" Someone had called over to him; Eren didn't pay attention to who.

In a war where it was assumed that at least a third of the troops would perish without question, where one was taught that dying bravely defending humanity was more honorable than trying to live; one learns to take death lightly. However, no death seen in the field could have prepared Eren Jaeger for that of Humanity's Strongest himself.

It was ironic really, that the Corporal would die with his face ground into the mud, drying blood matted thickly in his hair. The nape of his neck was hacked apart unevenly, with shivers of vertebrae and viscera jutting out like teeth from the tear. Most of the cervical curve had been splintered by the cut, leaving behind only a mottled mess of torn muscle sprinkled with cartilage and coagulated blood. Only a thin strip of the man's bruised throat kept his head from tearing completely away from his body. Besides the obvious lack of a neck, not much could be said about the rest of his body, though the splotched blood on his uniform mixed with caked dirt was enough to tell that it was bad.

It wasn't a pretty sight by a long shot, but it was absolutely stunning.

He wasn't curled in some unnatural position, and the twelve blades rested in their sheathes instead of in his hands. His gas canisters still sputtered and hissed softly, even after a minimum of three hours, so he hadn't run out. No titan killed Humanity's Strongest, but one of their own had. And they did an absolutely monstrous job of hacking up the body.

"You're fucking filthy, Corporal." Eren breathes as he kneels next to the corpse, consequently muddying up his boots. Calloused, trembling fingers find their way into Levi's sticky hair, lingering for just a moment before tightening their grip and yanking Levi's head upwards with a sickening crack, tearing what little remained of the man's neck. Eren then brings his free hand to Levi's face, smearing some of the mud from his cheeks while keeping a vice-grip in his hair.

Eren sits like this for several moments, marveling at cold flesh like marble and dark eyes like glass. Levi couldn't have been dead for over four hours, his features not yet slated in place by rigor mortis. Bruises had welled along his jawline and neck, marring porcelain skin with flowers of purple and blue along with rosy welts of blood, now dry. By now, enough time had been spent ogling Levi's after-death face, most of the soldiers out for body-counting have long since left Eren behind. His face had been painted with cracked rivers of scarlet, absolutely filthy. Absolutely perfect.

"You hate this, don't you?" Eren gently fans his fingers out over Levi's cheek, swiping his thumb across Levi's blue lips. They shouldn't be so cold. He pretends they aren't. He loosens his grip on Levi's hair, sliding both hands to the sides of his face and pressing his thumbs into Levi's temples. "You don't have to answer that, sir; that was out of line."

Eren smiles at his words before pressing his lips against the cold, dead ones in his hands.

He holds the kiss only slightly, before pulling away to stare into glass eyes. "I never had the chance to do this before, so this'll just have to do." Eren flips his legs out from underneath himself, leaning back against the heap of bones and blood that is Levi's body. It's filthy, cool mud pressed against the back of his legs and sticky blood against the back of his neck, but Eren doesn't care.

He brings those frozen lips back to his again, smashing their mouths together roughly, wantonly. His teeth scrape awkwardly against Levi's, bumping their noses together in the too-eager kiss. There isn't much coordination between Eren and Levi, just as much as there could be for a severed head and a delusioned kid. Eren drags his teeth slowly over Levi's bottom lip, biting harshly until the sweet tang of iron fills his mouth, then darts his tongue out across the swollen flesh to lap at the sluggish drops of blood. Levi's lips were starting to warm with the friction, and Eren guessed this was how they would feel if Levi were alive. His fingers curl tighter in Levi's hair, and he jams his thumbs into the junction of Levi's jaws, roughly forcing the corpse's mouth open.

Eren holds Levi's forehead against his own, breathing against his parted lips. A hand slinks back to hold a death-grip in the back of Levi's hair, the other snaking down to skirt and pull at the edges of Eren's shirt. He fumbles with his own taut leather belts, but manages to undo a majority of them with a single hand, all while peppering open-mouthed kisses to Levi's unresponsive lips. Maneuver gear falls to his sides with a heavy thunk, allowing Eren to splay his legs out flush against the ground. He's as good as fucked if a few straggler titans decide to rear their ugly faces, but he doesn't have it in him to care. He's too busy focusing on popping the button to his trousers and tasting the back of Levi's throat.

Whatever little resolve, if any, is lost when Eren yanks down his zipper with a stuttering vhrr and palms himself through his pants. His fingers curl tighter in the coarse hair of what was left of Levi's nape, surpressing a whimper against Levi's mouth. Forget the titans, Eren was fucked in general. He decided it was much better to not think about the fact he was going to touch himself to his deceased superior's decapitated head.

It was much easier to forget exactly what he was doing as soon as he has his trousers pulled down to his knees, waistband of his pants dragging down over his cock. Eren has Levi's mouth pressed flush against his own, tangling his hand deeper in Levi's hair, the other skirting between his thighs. Eren can feel tears welling in the corners of his eyes and heat coiling in the pit of his stomach. He's got his hand wrapped loosely around the base of his cock, breathing sharply into Levi's lower lip.

Eren slowly starts to pump himself, hips jerking up slightly into his touch. He wants to think it's Levi's hand working him, giving him everything Levi couldn't in his life. He wants to pretend that Levi's still alive to do this for him, and he rests Levi's head against his chest, unable to hold it up with his shaking arm. Each ministration of his hand elicits a soft moan, some lewd version of Levi's name mixed with other fruitiful profanities, not bothering to stifle them any longer. He didn't realize that he had closed his eyes until he lets them slide open to slate grey staring blankly back up at him.

In that moment, all realization of what Eren is actually about to do comes flooding back to him. Twists of his nether hand come to a halt, and he lifts that same hand up to jam his fingers into Levi's eyes, closing his lids harshly. He can feel his throat close up, staring at the complete mess he's made of Levi's perfect face.

His lips are chewed, to match the vivid red lacerations crowning his neck. Bruises are forming at his temples, to match the bouquet flowering along his jaw. Red stains his closed lower lids, to match the inklings of tears threatening to spill from Eren's. There's no hint of blush to match the red flush of Eren's cheeks. His skin is still cold porcelain, now stained with imperfections Eren himself had put there. He couldn't stand to look at it any longer. He wasn't about to stop, though. No, he was too far gone into this madness to give in to what he knew was right.

So, Eren opts for the most obvious thing to do; he slips both hands into Levi's jaw and yanks them open until the far corners of his mouth threaten to break. The inside of Levi's mouth is still damp with Eren's saliva mixed with blood that had drained from the neck wound.

Unable to keep his eyes on the corpse any longer, he takes Levi roughly by his hair and shoves the slanted mouth over his cock. Eren thrusts his hips up at the contact, Levi's teeth scraping along his shaft. He keeps his eyes clamped shut as he fucks himself into Levi's face, jerking up as he pushes the head farther down onto him. He keeps one hand in Levi's hair to steady the rythm of his thrusts downwards, and another over his eyes to resist the temptation of looking at the mess he's made.

Eren Jaeger is rutting himself up into the back of the late Corporal Levi's throat, choked noises dripping from his lips and he can't tell if they're moans or sobs. He's throwing his head back, digging the back of his skull into the lifeless body he's used as support as his rhythmic control of Levi's head become more erratic. His control is waning, and that profane name falls from his mouth again.

"F-fuck, Levi," He gives a final, hard thrust into Levi's soft palate as he comes, hips sputtering upwards as he spills himself into Levi's closed off throat.

It takes him several minutes to steady his breathing and hands enough to open his eyes and pull Levi's head off his cock, frowning when milky white blood drips from the cracked jaw. He takes the head and tucks it under his arm, holding it close as his eyes flutter shut again. He'll have to deal with the consequences of all of this later; right now, he just waits for sleep to claim him.

* * *

"Squad Leader, could you identify this body? We just need a second opinion, here." A recruit asks, squatting next to the headless form. The ground next to the body has been thoroughly mussed up, and a second pair of maneuver gear lies next to it. The body itself had been in favourable conditions for the slaughterhouse of a war, and would have been easy to match a name to, save for the disturbing lack of a head. Even if there had been a skull floating around nearby, it wouldn't have been hard to put two and two together, but they weren't even given that much.

The only possible identifier was the red soaked cravat still tied to the corpse.

* * *

violence, major character death, necrophilia, decapitation, ahahahahahahahahaha incredible


End file.
